User blog comment:Bluestripe the Wild/Rise of the Mercenaries/@comment-3094815-20110427213534

''suddenly, the weasel lashes out but Darkshadow easily dodges his blow, but the weasel is fast and his weapon manages to make an ugly gash in Darkshadow's shoulder, showing his hidden black fur underneath the disguise but not enough for anybeast to notice. With a flash, Darkshadow's twin axe blades spring fan-like from the sides of his staff and he swipes down under the weasel's footpaws. The weasel has just enough time to step back, the blades missing his footpaws by a hairsbreadth, when Dark's axe is back up again, glittering with a fiendish light. By now Dark's eyes are hard as flint, with a dangerous malevolent glow to them. He is utterly silent, totally bent upon his foe. The weasel pulls out his sword and the blades clash. Back and forth, in a whirl of blades, they perform the dance of death. Darkshadow with light, elegant pawsteps and the weasel with stumbling ones. The weasel now has to fight with both club and sword but it is small help against Darkshadow's sure and steady onslaught. With a grunt, the weasel trips on a coil of rope and sprawls on the ground, chest heaving with each breath as his mouth utters bawling cries for mercy. Darkshadow hasn't even broken a sweat and watches the weasel with contempt. He speaks in a low voice with a calm sureness'' Get up. If you ever try to cross blades with me again, you will die. ''Then he turns on his heel, sheathing the blades back into the fan and stands next to Abscon. He doesn't seem to notice the blood dripping to the deck in a small stream from the deep slash in his shoulder''